He happened to be a close friend of hersas well. (It’s been claimed he was her boyfriend or ex-boyfriend, but she denied that.)
I’ve known this since first listening to Velvet Underground. Oh, and to country music.
What do you get when you play country music backwards?
You get your job back, you get your wife back, you get your truck back . . .
But, what do you get when you play New Age music backwards?
You get New Age music!
I’m glad you don’t have a dig at the Velvets.
P.S.: but damn I love me some (I say some) country music.
Stephanie says
She ought to know
Why she’s given half of her life
To people she hates now . . .
Oh please don’t say that you hate me now just for liking, well, the good country faction. 
Velvet Underground is a Country faction?!
Did you think I spoke of country matters?!
No, well no, I didn’t mean that at all (it would be absurd), I think I just didn’t get your “Stephanie Says” quote, and confusion ensued.
To elaborate, I thought you’d taken a dig at me for liking a faction of country music in the previous post, after you having taken a major dig at country music before. I meant this line:
“Why she’s given half of her life
To people she hates now”.
Phew, that’s lots of explaining for a deranged pit thread I stumbled in. I hope it’s clear now. Btw., the OP’s an imbecile.
But a trained ape is not, necessarily.
I can’t quite follow you anymore. If that’s up to me or you, I’ll leave as an exercise for the audience. But I’m off to bed now. Good night.
Don’t even joke about that. I knew a guy that tried that, but ended up breathing in too much carbon monoxide and died from lack of oxygen.
There’s nothing funny about auto-erotic asphyxiation.
That’s just terrible. Go stand in a corner.
I took the joke the other way, and wondered if you believe that some people can breathe through their penises.
You used the adjective small judiciously.
Do you even know what satire is? The Roman poet Juvenal, that’s satire. The MacFlecknoe of John Dryden, the Modest Proposal, Gulliver’s Travels, the Tale of a Tub of Swift, that’s satire. The Dunciad of Pope, that’s satire. What you have written isn’t.
Go read the masters. Come back when you have some wit.
What? Peter Griffin of The Family Man isn’t satire? He hat wit! Half-wit! Just stupid you say? Well, I say Good Day Sir!
Real satire is Thomas Jefferson giving an oral presentation of The Declaration of Independence overseeing his slaves in the field while being fellated by Sally Hemmings.
I, for one, sent my yearbook dealer a note about some friendly weed. I was pretty high at the time.
Guess that explains those burned lips.
She was one hot bitch!
So, my dear old granny moved up to Minnesota from Waco to be closer to us, and got a very nice little place in a semi-assisted senior building and got on quite well, but insisted on keeping her rattle trap old car. Anyway, it quickly developed a case of Minnesota car cancer, but she kept it, and got the local handyperson to come by every week and give it a wash and wax. Simonize it, she heard that was the best.
So, anyways, they had this local grumpy nosy old biddy annoying some of the ladies with her observations, and she let fly with this…
“Well, all I can say is Ms. Ripley must be pretty well off, she told me she has a man come by once a week and sodomize her car…”